Deirdre and Desire (25 page)

Lord Harry’s Swiss made a startled appearance as his master entered the apartment.

‘Bruno!’ said Lord Harry. ‘I know you have been longing for a night off. Now is your opportunity.’

‘At nearly midnight, milor’?’

‘The perfect time to go roistering,’ said Lord Harry firmly.

‘Very good, milor’,’ said Bruno in a hollow voice.

‘Well, what do you think of my abode?’ asked Lord Harry when his servant had left.

He swung his domino from his shoulders and threw it over a chair. Then he took off his mask.

‘Very comfortable,’ said Deirdre, looking about her curiously.

‘I’ll take you on a guided tour,’ said Lord Harry. ‘This is my living-room.’ It was a small cluttered room, full of books and papers which spilled over various
seats and tables.

‘And this,’ he said, leading the way and holding up a candle, ‘is my boudoir.’

Clothes seemed to be lying all over the place. A toilet table was crammed with everything except toiletries: magazines, blacking, snuff boxes, a decanter of wine, a card rack, and a pile of
letters.

‘And beyond that is the bedroom. You have seen it all.’

‘All?’ said Deirdre in surprise. ‘I always thought lords lived in large houses.’

‘Not this one. But since I am become rich of late, I plan to find myself a mansion and stretch my legs. Would you care for a glass of wine?’

Deirdre nodded and he grasped the decanter and carried it back into the living-room where he made space for her to sit down by shovelling several books and journals from a chair.

‘Your servant does not clean very well,’ said Deirdre shyly.

‘Bruno’s a good sort and can valet me better than any gentleman’s gentleman in London. He loves to clean, but I will not let him disturb my things. Once he has been
house-cleaning, I cannot find anything. I am not a domesticated animal.’

He poured Deirdre a glass of wine and helped himself to one.

‘Please sit down, my lord,’ said Deirdre. ‘You make me nervous, looming over me like that. Also, I am doing a very wicked thing. I should not be here with you.’

‘It would be very wicked indeed if I took advantage of the situation,’ he pointed out. ‘And I have no intention of doing so. My servants will not talk, so you may be
easy.’

Some devil seemed to prompt Deirdre to move the conversation on to a more intimate footing.

‘When I told you about Betty and John,’ she said boldly, ‘you did not seem shocked.’

‘I don’t know the parties, except as your servants,’ he said. ‘Since they are to be married and have found a means to make Mr Armitage marry them, I cannot really say
anything much about it. Are they in love?’

‘Yes, very much.’

‘Then what they were doing was only natural. Other people’s lovemaking always looks highly
unnatural
, of course, while one’s own does not.’

‘But how can
any
lady . . . it is different for servants, surely.’

‘Deirdre, talking of such things – I do not know if you are doing it deliberately – is forcibly bringing to my mind the intimacy of our situation. If you go on, I shall be
tempted to break my promise.’

‘You are right,’ said Deirdre, standing up. ‘We should go.’

‘Aren’t you hot with that mask on?’

‘Yes, I am a little.’ She put up her hands and untied the strings and tucked the velvet mask into her reticule.

‘That is better. Masks make the most innocent people look wicked. Now you look like a country virgin.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Deirdre, although she was not sure it was a compliment.

‘Well . . .’ she said, moving from one foot to the other, ‘I should return.’

‘Of course. Oh, God!’ he suddenly screamed. ‘Look at that!’

The terror in his voice and face were so real that Deirdre gave a startled shriek and flung herself into his arms, babbling, ‘What is it? Oh, is it a
ghost
?’

She hugged him close and buried her face in his chest.

‘I am sorry to have alarmed you,’ he said mildly. ‘I saw my cravat in the looking glass and it had a
spot
on it.’

‘You tricked me,’ accused Deirdre, her voice muffled in his waistcoat.

‘Not I,’ he replied softly. ‘Do look up and say you forgive me. You see, I have kept my promise. Your arms are about me, but mine are by my side.’

She looked up and opened her mouth to accuse him again of trickery, but the words died on her lips. His blue eyes were dark in the candlelight, no longer calm and childlike, but blazing down at
her with a certain intensity that kept her wide gaze trapped in his.

He stood very still.

She gave a little sigh and stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently on the mouth.

Still, his arms remained at his sides, but his mouth burned and clung, and she kissed him with increasing passion. His mouth slid to the lobes of her ears, then the tip of her nose, then her
eyelids, and then . . .

‘Ow!’ yelped Deirdre, her eyes wide with alarm and a hand flying to her neck. ‘You
bit
me!’

‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ he said, drawing back. ‘Are you
sure
? I told you Bruno was not allowed to clean. Now only see. It is quite obvious. I have fleas.’

‘Sir, this was not a flea bite,’ said Deirdre, as cold as she had been hot a moment before. ‘I do not understand you. Please take me home.’

‘Very well,’ he said mildly.

Deirdre kept a very stiff demeanour on the road to St James’s Square, her back straight, her face averted from him.

This time, the house in St James’s Square was ablaze with lights.

‘Confusion,’ said Lord Harry, as he helped Deirdre to alight. ‘I fear Lady Godolphin has returned and has started an alarm as to your whereabouts. I must think of a good
excuse.’

Deirdre and Lord Harry walked into the drawing-room to face a battery of accusing eyes. Ranged up in front of them were Lady Godolphin, Colonel Brian, Minerva and Lord Sylvester, and the vicar
and Squire Radford.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Lord Sylvester.

‘We could not find Lady Godolphin,’ said Lord Harry easily, ‘and I became concerned because the masquerade turned out not to be suitable for a lady of tender years such as Miss
Deirdre. In fact, it was not suitable for any
lady.
Lord Sylvester, I assure you, it was like Rome before the Fall. I decided the best thing I could do was to remove Miss Deirdre from the
Jamesons’ as soon as possible.’

‘Forgive me for being a septic,’ said Lady Godolphin drily. ‘But I do not think you looked very hard.’

‘We looked for you at eleven o’clock,’ put in Colonel Brian, ‘and could not find you anywhere. When we asked at the entrance, we were told you had left a little
before
eleven. Since you did not send the carriage back, I had to escort poor Lady Godolphin here in a hack.’

‘We were sitting in the carriage discussing the works of Shakespeare,’ said Lord Harry, ‘and quite forgot the time. As you can see, Miss Deirdre has come to no harm.’

‘Come here, girl,’ barked the vicar suddenly. ‘And stop lurking in the doorway.’

Deirdre walked forwards, her hand to her throat.

‘Is Lord Harry telling the truth?’ demanded the vicar.

‘Yes, Papa,’ said Deirdre.

‘Come closer.’

The vicar stared at his daughter’s face, and then suddenly his arm shot out and he dragged Deirdre’s hand down from her neck.

All eyes fastened on the subsequently exposed purple bruise.

The vicar’s eyes were like two black diamonds in his flushed face.

‘Where did you come by that?’ he asked softly.

‘Wh . . . what?’ Deirdre tried to look innocent and only succeeded in looking miserably guilty.

‘You, answer,’ snarled the vicar, rounding on Lord Harry.

‘No, I will answer,’ said Deirdre quickly. ‘A man jumped into our box at the masquerade when Lord Harry was fetching us refreshments, and . . . he tried to kiss me, and in the
struggle, I came by this bruise.’

‘Such a reason fair pisses my goose,’ said the vicar coldly.

‘Papa!’ shrieked Minerva. ‘Such language.’

‘Get used to it,’ said the vicar. ‘There’s worse to come, I think. Well, Desire, what’s your explanation?’

Lord Harry spread his hands in a deprecating manner, and shot a rueful glance in Deirdre’s direction.

‘I find it very hard to lie,’ he said. ‘The truth is, I was holding your daughter in my arms and kissing her and I regret to say I forgot myself.’

‘Where did this take place, sirrah? In the carriage?’

Clear as a bell, Lord Harry’s voice seemed to ring through the drawing-room.

‘In my lodgings, Mr Armitage.’

Green eyes gleaming, Lord Sylvester made a quick move towards Lord Harry. Deirdre threw herself between them.

‘It was all my fault,’ she gasped. ‘I
flirted
with him, quite shamefully. I led him on.’

Lord Harry dropped his hands lightly on her shoulders and pulled her against him.

Then he rested his chin on top of her head and surveyed the outraged company with amused eyes.

Despite all her fright and confusion, Deirdre, nonetheless leaned gratefully back against him, thinking with one little part of her brain that it was the first time she had ever seen Minerva
struck speechless.

‘So there it is,’ said Lord Harry. ‘I have sadly compromised your daughter. We will need to be married as soon as possible.’

‘That you will,’ growled the vicar. ‘Come with me, Lord Harry. You have a great deal of talking to do.’

Lord Harry raised Deirdre’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

She looked up at him in a dazed and bewildered way. She loved him. He was to marry her, after all. The picture of John and Betty making love surfaced in her mind and she shuddered. How could she
be so in love with the man, and yet so frightened of the idea of her wedding night?

ELEVEN

Silas Dubois turned a little cloisonné snuff box over in his hands. It had cost a lot of money, and Silas did not like spending money – on anyone other than
himself.

He was waiting in a gloomy downstairs saloon in Mr Blewett’s residence; waiting to be ushered into the presence.

Mr Blewett had told Silas that he had definitely changed his will in Silas’s favour. That was good. But on that last visit, Mr Blewett kept saying eagerly that Silas should inform Lord
Harry of this fact.

Cat and mouse games, thought Silas sourly.

The snuff box was an expensive trinket to remind Mr Blewett that his moneybags were to go to the one who appreciated him most.

Silas Dubois had not seen Lord Harry for some time, and had no intention of seeing him now and telling him about the changed will.

For what if Desire should come hot foot to his uncle’s bedside and charm the old fool into changing his will again?

A footman entered and told Silas Dubois that Mr Blewett was ready to see him.

‘Physician called today?’ asked Silas eagerly as he mounted the stairs behind the servant.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And what is the verdict?’

‘I am sure I do not know, sir,’ said the footman haughtily.

Silas glared at his liveried back. Jackanapes! ‘You’ll be the first to go – and without a reference,’ he thought, ‘just as soon as I get my hands on Blewett’s
estate.’

Mr Blewett was propped up against the pillows. He looked as usual. That is, he looked at death’s door.

He was clutching a copy of the
Morning Post
and his eyes were bright with malicious humour.

‘Well, here’s confusion,’ he said as Silas sidled up to his bedside. ‘You have seen today’s newspapers?’

Silas shook his head.

‘Desire is to be wed to that Armitage chit after all! I knew he would do what I wanted in the end. I’d no intention of leaving him my money while he was bent on being single. But a
wife will settle him down.’

Silas Dubois’ fingers curled round the snuff box. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ he grated, ‘that this engagement of Desire’s alters things? You are surely not
contemplating changing your will again.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Mr Blewett pettishly. ‘It’s my will and my money and I can do what I like with it.’

Silas slid the snuff box into his pocket. He noticed in a detached kind of way that his hands were trembling.

‘I would not change your will so soon,’ he said forcing a smile. ‘The wedding could be off again.’

‘Well, I’ll confess that’s a possibility,’ said Mr Blewett cheerfully. ‘But I have sent for Desire and expect him directly.’

Silas Dubois thought furiously. He thought of tall and handsome Lord Harry, strolling in and charming this old curmudgeon into changing his will, Lord Harry who was reported to be making money
hand over fist on the Stock Exchange.

And then he saw the eager, malicious look on Mr Blewett’s face.

‘You don’t look very comfortable,’ said Silas, forcing a smile. ‘Allow me to arrange your pillows.’

‘Leave them alone,’ snapped Mr Blewett. ‘I don’t like you hovering about me like a demned vulture.’ He gave a senile giggle. ‘Demme, if you don’t look
like a vulture with that great nose of yours.’

Well, it was only the matter of a moment to whip the pillow out from under the old man and ram it down on his face.